


Heaven from Hell

by SnowF



Series: Blood, Powder, Steel and Sand [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Age Difference, Caesar's Legion, Childhood Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Heavy Angst, Honest Hearts DLC, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Isn't the Legion its own warning?, Memory Loss, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, NSFW, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Post-Hoover Dam Battle (Fallout), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Redemption, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowF/pseuds/SnowF
Summary: She has seen everything; she has been through everything.She was reborn twice already, once as Iulia, daughter of the almighty Caesar, first of his Frumentarii, Deimos incarnated. Once as Six, the doomed courier who walked the Mojave with nothing but vengeance in mind.She has done it all; she has survived it all.The Hoover Dam was won to the Legion, the way it was always meant to be. She was crowned Caesar. She was the most powerful being of the region, reigning over a bloody empire stretching from Arizona to Nevada.But she destroyed everything she had, including herself.She ran away but fate stepped in before she could reach the faraway lands where she could start anew again. In the midst of her nightmares, she woke up in Zion valley, facing a former Legate she had sworn to kill many years ago.But the Burned Man has things to tell, things to teach. After all, they share the same voices in their head and the same blood on their path.[Revamp of an old fic I published a long time ago]
Relationships: Caesar (Fallout)/Female Courier, Craig Boone/Female Courier, Female Courier/Joshua Graham, Female Courier/Vulpes Inculta
Series: Blood, Powder, Steel and Sand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/476044
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! As written in the summary, Heaven from Hell is not an entirely new work. I have revamped some parts of it, but the story remains more or less the same.
> 
> I hope those of you who didn't get to read the first version will like that one. My obsession with FNV and Joshua Graham will never, ever, be satisfied.

I

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was fabric. A sky of fabric, above her head. _A tent._ Her heart was painfully pounding in her chest and, when she tried to sit, her head spun so much that she collapsed back on the camp bed. She slowly reached for her own face and, relieved to thing everything there, she took a deep breath.

 _Fucking hell, what happened?_ She closed her eyes again and tried to remember just why she was there, _where_ this “there” was and _who_ put her here. All she found was complete darkness. _I don’t remember,_ she thought as her heart started to beat even faster, way too fast. _Again._

 _Okay, stop, the basics. I come from the Mojave. I was going east. My name is…_ She sighed and cursed herself. _Don’t have a name to remember anymore._ At least this time she had not forgotten everything. Not that it helped her remember where she was, but every little victory, right?

Whatever happened, though, was violent. Her arms were covered with bandages, her entire body was stiff and sore and the only clear memory she had was an explosion, the caravan shattered around her and… And then this.

She had absolutely no idea where she was, and from where she stood – _or lie down_ , she couldn’t really tell whether she was alive or not. She just knew that her body hurt way too much to be dead. Then again, though, maybe they lied when they said death doesn’t hurt. Wouldn’t be the first time.

One small move at the time, she slowly managed to sit on her camp bed without losing consciousness. Whatever wasn’t covered with bandages was covered with bruises, especially under the wide shirt she was now wearing. She winced when she touched the blue-ish hue her stomach’s skin had taken. She couldn’t see her face for lack of any mirror, but she could very well imagine the disaster.

She eventually got to stand on her two legs, wobbly at first, and made the few steps that separated her bed from the tent’s entrance. Stepping outside, she realized that the tent was inside a very large cave, and a completely empty one at that. There were only some dying fires here and there, a few other tents and wooden furniture lying around. _Is this the purgatory?_ She imagined something a little more _white_ and a little less _wasteland-ish_. It still looked, tasted, smelled and felt like her usual living nightmare. _It just misses the ghosts._

“You’re awake,” a masculine voice echoed behind her. She turned around, a bit too fast, to face whoever spoke. She held unto the nearest cave wall not to trip. “And alive, as it seems.

\- Ha,” she scoffed. She looked up at him, sitting on a chair at the top of a small rock cliff. She couldn’t really see his face in the dark. “I was just thinking that this was a little too cozy to be hell.

\- Unless hell is the world we inherited. But God doesn’t seem to want you yet, so there’s no telling.”

Frowning, she made a few careful steps toward him and climbed the cliff where torches illuminated whatever he was doing on the table in front of him. She narrowed her eyes on her way and recognized the moves he was doing. _He’s fixing guns._ With every step she took, his silhouette grew clearer and sharper and she slowly managed to see his face.

Or lack thereof. His face was covered with white, clean bandages, as well as his neck, hands and every inch of skin she could see. _Is that a trend?_ She made the last steps even slower and froze in place when he raised his eyes from his guns and looked at her. If he noticed her stupefaction, he let nothing show. He just looked straight at her, stared at her eyes as if he could pierce her soul.

And he probably could, if legends were to be believed. This man was Joshua Graham, the Malpais Legate. She had seen him burn alive down the Great Canyon after the first battle of Hoover Dam – this man was supposed to be long dead. Of course, it was an open secret that he had survived the torture Caesar had put him through and fled east to hide in Utah, with the New-Canaanites first and afterward with tribals. She had personally sent some of her Frumentarii on his tracks, back before the bullet. None of them had ever returned.

She had told Vulpes that they would do it themselves, and bring his severed head to Caesar. History got in the way of that plan, and now she stood in front of the most hated man in the entire Legion, the same man she had vowed to kill for as long as he had resurfaced. _Too bad,_ she thought dryly, _that there is no Legion left to bring his head back to._

“What happened?” she asked, deciding to fake ignorance for a slong as possible. “I was in a caravan and…

\- You got attacked by White Legs remnants.” He lowered his eyes on his guns again. “They destroyed your caravan and killed your fellows. I don’t know if you were close to any of them, but you have my sympathy.

\- How did I survive? Who found me?

\- One of my men. He was patrolling when they attacked you, and left you for dead.” A pause. “You seem to have a thick skull, though.”

_Ha, you don’t say._ She rolled up the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing, trying not to touch any of her bruises and wounds. That must have been quite the ordeal to treat this many injuries, but at least whoever did so had the _pleasure_ to strip her off her clothes. She closed her eyes when she remembered that she was wearing Legion clothes, and cursed herself again.

 _Ok, stay calm, maybe he hasn’t seen them. Maybe they burned._ She could only hope so. The guy couldn’t be into Legion stuff anymore, after what they did to him. _And after New Canaan._ She forced a smirk and touched the scar on her forehead.

“Yeah. You’re not the first to tell me.

\- I can’t say I’m surprised, given how many scars you have.” He looked at her again. Joshua Graham always had astonishing blue eyes. _Why do they always have blue eyes?_ “It’s unusual for a woman so young to be so scarred.

\- I’m not really an _usual_ woman anyway.

\- That you’re not. The most surprising thing about you, though, was your attire and your weapons.” Another pause. “They belong to Caesar’s Legion.”

_… Or not._ She took a deep breath and ran a hand across her face. She wasn’t as worried, scared or frustrated as she was _tired_ and _weary._ She had taken that caravan to run away from the Legion, or whatever was left of it now. She had burned it all down, torn it apart, she had left it to crumble down and be scattered by the winds, and yet it kept on chasing her, though the most convoluted way possible.

He didn’t look away from her, not ever, and patiently waited for an answer to a question he didn’t ask. What could she say, anyway? _Well, you see, I’ve been in the Legion for pretty much my entire life and two years from now I would have gladly chopped you head off. But what you see is changed woman, you wouldn’t imagine how much of a change a bullet in the brain can bring!_ Nah, the tone was off – so she settled for simplicity and honesty. He couldn’t know who she _truly_ was just by looking at her clothes.

“They do.

\- And what does that make you? A former slave?” She couldn’t tell if he was curious of furious – you don’t know how much eyebrows matter until the day you face someone who has none. “You wear their colours, but you snatched the bull.

\- Let’s say that I share quite a baggage with the Legion.

\- _Right._ ”

His eyes started to shine furiously and he put down the gun he was holding a bit too harshly. It wasn’t anger or curiosity she saw in his eyes anymore – it was cruelty. Plain, pure cruelty, gleaming in his eyes just like it used to gleam in many other eyes. In Vulpes’, in Caesar’s, in hers. _Mostly Vulpes’._ That display of cold fury didn’t scare her anymore; it was the Legion’s trademark and she had used that technic on countless people already. She simply raised an eyebrow and smirked wider. _For a man who nearly got killed my Caesar, he surely acts like one of his men still._

“What did they do to you? Did they murder your entire family in front of your eyes? Was it your spouse? Your child?” His voice was raw, almost feral, and she could tell that he found _pleasure_ in this cruelty. “Is it why you were fleeing east?

 _\- Quea sunt caesaris, caesari_ ,” she slowly replied. He blinked and, for an instant, the shine in his eyes shifted. “But I’m afraid that you’re completely off beam, old man.

\- You know Latin. Who are you, scarred woman?

\- Someone who vowed to kill you years ago, Malpais Legate.”

They exchanged a long stare. She was trying to figure out whether she was going to get shot _again_ , and if this time it would be the last, while he was probably weighting up the pros and cons of killing her on the spot before she could do anything. After a while, though, he looked down and his attention returned to the guns. She allowed herself some measure of relief and tried to run her fingers through her hair. They remained stuck there. _I need a fucking long bath._

“The head of the Frumentarri who sent me all these men,” he said. Although she couldn’t see his lips, he sounded like he was smiling wryly. “How’s Inculta?

\- Pretty much like the rest of the Legion,” she shrugged. “Dead.

\- Dead? What happened?

\- I happened. Caesar died of mostly natural causes, I took up where he left off, changed my mind and destroyed it all.

\- Hard to believe,” Joshua noted, while still inspecting his guns. “When I remember Caesar calling you his heir.

\- A bullet in the brain changes a lot of things.”

He looked at her scar with renewed interest and nodded to himself. Putting down the gun he was tinkering, he grabbed the bible next to him and brush the leathery cover. _Not going to change their fate, Legate. Or yours._ She never understood his whole religious thing, but she had never been a spiritual woman. She never had the chance to contemplate the heavy questions of lives and Vulpes was not a good influence on that regard. They were too down-to-earth, practical killers who had very little time to waste on _questions._ They were too cruel to care about _meanings_ ; the only meaningful things were death, and victory. The rest was sentimentality.

“You did God’s work, then, whether you believe it or not.

\- Spare me, Graham,” she sighed. “It’s the third time I’m supposed to be dead and I’ve never seen your holy spirit.

\- First time was that bullet of yours, I suppose, and third was this ambush. What was the second?

\- I killed Vulpes Inculta and he tried to kill me back. Really thought it was the end, but you may not be entirely wrong when you say God does not want me. I must scare him.

\- Of perhaps He’s the one you’re scared of.”

She rolled her eyes. _Why of course._ The idea of this man, his hand placed on his very holy book, leading the Legion with Caesar was hilarious. A man of God, turned into a monster by very earthly sins. _Pride. Ambition. Cruelty, again._ If anything, he was as guilty as the late Caesar for what they both did to Arizona, to the Mojave and so on. He had just as much blood on his hand as he used to, if not more.

But she was in no better position to lecture him about his hypocrisy, given the amount of blood she had on her own hands, and the amount of destructions in her wake before and after the bullet. She took another deep breath and sat on the nearest chair when her head started to spin again. She looked around. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she had seen worse places. _I miss my suite,_ she thought tiredly.

“What even is this place?

\- The shelter of the Dead Horses and Sorrows’ tribes… And of a very few New-Canaanites. But that you must know, given that you sent me assassins.

\- I had no idea you were living in a place called Zion,” she shrugged. “Surrounded by tribals. How come you’ve not yet renamed them Jesus and Mary’s people?

\- I don’t get to choose how they’re called.

\- Don’t fuck with me, Graham.” She frowned and turned to him. “You’re their warlord or something. Recreating your own little Legion in deep Utah.”

If he had had eyebrows, he would have frowned given how severe his stare turned. _As if it weren’t obvious enough that a man like cannot be satisfied with a life like that._ He could very well pretend to be a good-two-shoes with those people, but that didn’t change his nature. Joshua Graham was a rabid animal, a bloodthirsty monster, with or without Legion gear to prove it. They were the same… Somehow.

She couldn’t help thinking that maybe even he believed in this farce. Maybe it truly was that easy to leave such a heavy past behind, to feel like nothing happened and to be newly born again. _It can’t be that simple._ She had to burn it all down, gut half of her own men to sooth her own mind; he couldn’t just be adjusting to a tribal life like it was nothing. He _had_ to have a deeper goal in mind.

“I taught them how to fight, maintain weapon, be strategic in their wars,” Graham retorted. “But I am not a new Caesar.

\- Did I say that? Of course I didn’t. We both know how disastrous your experience with Caesar has been.

\- I’d advise you not to forget that we saved you, nursed you back to health and protected you while you were unconscious,” he hissed. “ _And_ that I’m particularly skilled with those guns in front of me.

\- Or,” she purred, taking one of them to inspect it. “I could use one of them to finally kill you. For good old times’ sake.”

He snatched his gun from her hands before she could check if there were bullets inside, and stood up to face her seat. He was taller than she remembered, and broader than she expected. The fire had not destroyed him nearly as much as Caesar hoped to. _It didn’t kill him, to begin with._ She crossed her arms on her chest and leaned onto the back of her chair. Her head tilted, she inspected the man the Malpais Legate had become.

He was wearing a bulletproof vest, the pre-war kind. His threats were not idle ones; tired and aching as she was, he would outrun her in mere seconds if she tried to run away. Even if she did manage to sneak away, she expected men to be guarding the caves’ entrance, however tribal they could be. _Maybe it would end my misery once and for all._ She wasn’t so inclined to take the bet; her _thick skull_ had taken worse than sticks and stones. She eventually smiled and shrugged.

“Fortunately for you I have no desire to kill another Legion man. Your blood must be hard to wash off.

\- Why did you destroy it all? Caesar appreciated you, as far as I remember.

\- He appreciated me as much as a man like him could appreciate a daughter he mistook for a son for years,” she retorted with a sly smile. “Being undervalued has perks, you know. He never imagined me capable of accelerating his coming death to take over his band of lunatics in _skirts_.

\- You’re wrong. He knew you could, he just expected his men not to follow a woman.” He looked away and chuckled lowly. “The look on his face when he realized you were not a boy.”

She couldn’t help following suit, and scoffing too. She remembered parts of that time – her brain still wasn’t completely healed and these were distant memories now, but she remembered _that look on his face_. She was the daughter of a woman he had raped during a raid against an enemy tribe whose name she could not recall. He had probably planned to take her back to Arizona, but that woman had somehow managed to flee slavery and she had found shelter in New Reno.

She kept no memory of that woman. She didn’t remember anything from her life in New Reno. She didn’t even know what name that woman gave her when she was born; then again, she may have not given her a name at all. She was the by-product of torture by a monstrous man. Had she been that woman, she would have strangled that child as soon as it was born.

But she didn’t, and it cost her her life. Caesar was never a man to pardon offence. He sent Frumentarii after that woman, with the express order _not_ to kill any potential _male_ child. When they eventually her and the child she had given birth to, they found a scrawny little thing with short hair and dressed as a boy. The Frumentarii, thick as a brick, mistook her for the _male heir_ their master had mentioned and they took her back to her _father_. She never corrected them, or him, or anyone; she was old enough to understand that it was a matter of survival.

When she first met him, she was covered with the dried blood of the woman he had raped a few years back. He barely looked at her. He just sent her to train with the other boys, and ordered her to clean herself. And so she did. She was older than some of the trainees, but she quickly caught up with them and, soon enough, everyone started to say that her skills came from her father. He remained a very distant figure and her mind slowly started to conceive him as the legend and demi-gods the instructors spoke about. They shaped her exactly the way he wanted his legionaries to be: obedient, ruthless, skillfull and devoted to him.

But a woman she remained. She hid for as long as she could, but came the day when trainees spotted her bathing bare-chested. _And the look on his face._ Everyone who witnessed the scene hesitated between laughing and hiding. Caesar had to make a choice, that day: keep to his doctrine and get rid of that manipulative wretch and lose a valuable asset, or make an exception for a formidable soldier in the making.

She received fifty lashes for her lie, then they left her three weeks in a cell with minimal care, minimal food and minimal water. It almost killed her, and it must have been the whole point: if she could survive that, she was worthy of mercy. She survived and everything went back to normal. After a few years of good service, she became a Frumentarii; a few more, and she became their head. Vulpes Inculta quickly joined her at that position.

“His pride blinded him,” he continued. “Everyone knew you were not a boy months, possibly years before he acknowledged it. I saw that the day they brought you back.

\- And you didn’t say anything?

\- I thought it was hilarious and I was curious to see what he would to you. I must say I was quite disappointed when he decided not to kill you.

\- I can go back on what I just said about killing you, you know.

\- No, you can’t. You’re a Frumentarius, you know that you don’t kill a man if there’s no way to safely retreat.”

_He would know._ She shrugged again. She wasn’t going to kill him, of course; the very reason she was there was to flee what she had done in the Mojave. And she did owe him and his tribals a blood debt. _Not that I usually care about that._ He sighed and shook his head, as if frustrated not to be able to get a firm grasp of what that woman really was. _Line up, Graham, you’re not the only one._ He was about to say something when men entered the cave. He spoke to them in a weird language, that neither sounded like Latin nor the common language.

The men glared at her with suspicion and curiosity: _that strange woman was seating near their leader and his guns, why?_ She glared back and they eventually vanished into another section of the cave. These had to be the most primitive tribals they had ever see and, somehow, it disgusted her that men could still live like that. She shrugged off these thoughts and Vulpes’ voice in her head calling them _degenerated proligates._ Her heart tightened.

“So,” she said to break the silence and her distress. “What are they? Dead horses or sad people?

\- They are Dead Horses,” he replied sternly. “I recommend you are a little bit more respectful of them. You can consider them savages, but they’re quite capable of killing you.

\- I guess they are, if you taught them to. Do they speak our language?

\- Most of them don’t. We’re teaching them.” He turned again and eyed her. “You haven’t answered my question, Iulia. Why did you…

 _\- Don’t_ ,” she interrupted him, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Don’t call me like that.”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback by her reaction. She closed her eyes and sighed, waiting for the cold sweat on her back to have warmed up. It was painful to hear that name, _physically_ painful. _And Six. And the number six, for that matter._ It sent shivers down her spine, a lump in her throat and it triggered a very sharp yearn to run away. She took a deep breath, then another, and she opened her eyes again. Graham had not made a single move, but he had narrowed his eyes.

“How do you want me to call you, then?

\- Don’t call me at all. I won’t stay long enough for you to need a name,” she said calmly. Or seemingly so. “To answer your question, I destroyed it because I wanted to.

\- Why? If you managed to take commands, you could have stormed the Mojave and hold Hoover Dam at last. What changed?

\- _I_ changed. Like I said, a bullet in the brain changes a woman.”

_More like amnesia changes a woman, in my case_. She didn’t wish to talk about it any further, let alone with him. How could he understand? She didn’t even understand _why_ she couldn’t return to her old, comfortably wicked life. He remained still for a while, and eventually returned to his gun without a word. _Is the conversation over?_ He now acted like she wasn’t there anymore, focused on his inspection.

“We’ll help you back to the Mojave when our scouts have returned.

\- I’m not returning to the Mojave,” she said. “I’m heading east.

\- There’s nothing east.

\- There must be. Plus, why would you care?”

Silence answered. _Why of course._ She shook her head and rose from her seat. Looking at his guns, she realized she had no idea where her weapons were. Most of them weren’t exactly valuable – they were just plain guns and rifles, but two of them… They mattered. They meant something and she had not yet been able to leave them behind. She bit her lower lip and continued.

“Where is my gear?

\- I’ll ask Daniel to hand them to you,” he replied. “Nothing’s damaged, if that’s what worries you.

\- I’m not worried.

\- You should get some rest, then. You’ve been down for quite some time.”

_Conversation over,_ she understood, _copy that._ She headed down the cliff and back into the tent she had woken up in. She noticed the bag left next to the entrance she had walked past without realizing, and knelt nearby. It was her travel bag, mostly untouched. Her food, ammos, everything was still there and somehow it soothed her. At least there were a few civilized people here, whoever that _Daniel_ was. Until proven any of the tribals were actual human being, though, she would not take Graham’s word for it.

And Graham… She would be dead by now if he truly wanted her to, but she found hard to believe in his _I found God and now I’m a new man_ thing. _No one_ could be a new man after what he did. And he did worse than her, for a longer time. _He was in charge, and I…_

Her face darkened. She had been in charge too, for a long time. _I don’t pretend to be a new woman and I don’t pray a stupid God._ Not that it changed anything to the unshakable pain she still felt from hearing _that name_ in his mouth. _I need Maria and my stiletto._


	2. II

Graham didn’t lie; the so-called Daniel appeared by her tent a few minutes later. He was relatively young compared to his fellow, but with his thick beard and his hat he looked like the plainest Wastelander she had ever seen. He tilted his head when he realized she was staring at him. _What a polite man,_ she thought. _Now that’s a true Mormon._ No genocidal past, no disregard for humanity as a whole. Just a hat, a beard and a checked shirt. She didn’t say a word, and waited for him to tell her what he was there for.

“I’m Daniel,” he greeted her, cautious to the extreme. “Joshua asked me to check on you. The Dead Horses told me what happened to your caravan. A stranger’s sympathy might not count for much, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

\- Don’t be. I hardly knew them.

\- Don’t say that to the Sorrows, then. They will mourn them as they mourn everyone.” He paused. “They still have sensitive souls. Innocent, if there is such a thing after what happened to the White Legs.

\- Whatever happened was apparently not enough, given that they still managed to attack me.”

He frowned, disapproving. _He really is a man of God, then._ Not like Graham, who would’ve agreed with her or ignored her because he would have known she was right. That man, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely care about these Sorrows tribals. _Innocent,_ she repeated, letting the word roll in her mind. _Weak,_ another voice retorted there. This time she did not shrug it off; there was no such thing as _innocence_ in the Wastelands, even those Wastelands. There were survival and death; the only _innocent_ people she had met were either children or dead people, both of them crushed by the Legion or any other forces, whoever righteous.

She shrugged and stood up to face him. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Graham, and a lot less lethal as well. But saner, probably. _The bar is set so low that there is hardly room for worst._ She wondered how those two men could appreciate each other. _Maybe they don’t._ They were just survivor from the same town, and for all she knew he could very well ignore who Graham really was.

“I’m sorry you had to meet them. Soon enough they’ll be scattered all around Utah and they won’t pose a threat to anyone.

\- Not as much as I am. Graham told me you had my weapons.

\- I do, but…”

She frowned, this time. _But what? Stop tempting me, I’m this close to actually give in to my craving of violence._ He lowered his eyes at the fabric bag he was holding and looked at her again, both suspicious and apologetic. _Ha. Yes, of course._

It made sense. He was so protective of his goddamn savages that he feared she might blow a fuse and kill them all. The darkest part of her mind had considered the idea, but it would be useless and way too dangerous _and_ she needed them to escape this damned canyon anyway.

 _But he doesn’t know that, does he?_ She had no idea what he knew about her, if he had seen the clothes she was wearing, if he had recognized them. _If Graham told him who I am and what I did to their people._ He probably didn’t, otherwise that good man wouldn’t have allowed her to stay, let alone to live. New Canaan was no more because of her, after all, and it was one of the very last order she… _Iulia_ gave before she went on with her courier mission. She had had it sacked by those White Legs he spoke of, until nothing remained. _Nothing,_ she thought, _but these two men._ She was the very reason they holed up in this place.

“But you’re scared of me,” she said calmly. “What did Graham say to you? That I was dangerous? Hard to predict, harder to control?

\- He didn’t say anything. He asked us to heal you back to life.” _Did he, now?_ “But you were heavily armed, and any of these could…” He stopped and sighed. “Listen, I just want to be certain I’m not making a mistake trusting you.

\- I won’t pretend to care about those tribals as much as you do, Daniel, but I’m not planning to mass-murder them any time soon. I just want to make sure my gear is up and running.

\- It is. There, this is all we found.”

He handed her the bag. She emptied it on the bed and smiled. Her machete was there, as well as her shotgun. She had seen her sniper rifle stick out of the bag, so it was no surprise to find it there. Maria was in its holster with her switchblade and she found the stiletto at the bottom of the bag. _Everything’s there._ She closed her eyes for a second. Undamaged. Untouched, just as Graham said. _Good. Very good._ She turned to Daniel again and forced a softer smile. He tried to as well, but he still looked wary.

“Thank you, Daniel.

\- You’re welcome,” he said, slightly relieved by her change of mood. “Joshua told me you wished to head east. Our scouts should be back in two or three days, they’ll be able to lead you out of Zion. Further than that, I’m afraid they won’t be of much help.

\- I don’t wish for company anyway, so I’ll be okay.

\- I guess so.”

He was about to say something else, but headed out of the tent without actually speaking again. _Well. There’s that._ She put the weapons back in the bag, but put her stiletto back where it belonged; tied to her right ankle. She lay down on the camp bed and closed her eyes, hoping to get the rest Graham has advised her to take.

She regretted it as soon as her eyes were closed. Pictures, memories jumped at her. Ulysses accepting his order to rally the White Legs against New Canaan. Their handshake, in the traditional Legion way. She never received the report, but it was one of the very first thing Vulpes told her when he brought her back to the Fort. It became one of the many things she struggled to remember. _Don’t return,_ she had told Ulysses, _until New Canaan is a fuming pile of ashes and the Malpais Legate is at last one too. Caesar so orders._ She flinched. Her own voice sounded like a nightmare, in her memories.

She had clearer memories, and no less painful at that, of what led to such an extreme order. She was still a girl when the First Battle of Hoover Dam was fought and she didn’t participate in the massacre, but she remembered how furious Caesar was when he realized his Legate had driven his forces right into a trap… And lost the dam in the process. He remained locked in his quarters for days, and Graham locked in a cell for just as long, before he gave the fateful order to coat his right-hand man in pitch, light him on fire and throw him in the Grand Canyon. Most of the Legion made the trip north to witness the execution.

Obviously she was part of the party. Graham remained silent until the very end. He stared at everyone who dared look at him without flinching. She remembered trying to stare back and looking away, unable to stand as strong as he did. But she couldn’t… Couldn’t remember what he looked like. She had seen him her entire childhood, but his face was blurry. The only thing she remembered was the horrible, acrid smell when they lit him on fire, and when she tried to remember what he looked like, the only face she saw was covered with pitch, screaming, staring at Caesar with a fire in his eyes brighter than the fire that engulfed him already. And his screams, his never-ending screams that haunted the Canyon for so long.

They never found his body and rumours started to spread. Caesar couldn’t allow that. As soon as it reached his ears that the New-Canaanites had sheltered him, he had ordered her to put an end to this mascarade. _Burn their houses,_ she had ordered, cruelty and greed in her voice. _Salt their lands._ Ulysses never found his body, or so he wrote to the Fort, and Caesar decided that Joshua Graham had _never_ existed. _Rape their wives._ The Frumentarii Vulpes and her had sent throughout the years were forgotten, they had never existed either. _Gut their children._ Lanius replaced Graham. Everyone pretended to have forgotten. _Bring Graham’s head back to me._ But no one ever forgot the Burned Man’s screams, down the Canyon. _Or I’ll have yours instead._

Her own maddened chuckle woke her with a start when it echoed in her head. She cursed herself, sat on her bed and buried her head in her hands. _Fucking hell._ For the longest time these memories had felt like someone else’s, since they returned. She had slowly come to accept that they were hers, and that she was that laughing, crazed woman. It made them even more terrifying.

She raised her head when she heard voices, laughter and overall agitation around her tent. She rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath to attempt to clear her mind and stepped out in the caves. People were sitting around a campfire, preparing food, eating and talking in their weird language. She froze there, staring at the group of tribals. One of them noticed her, pointed her finger at her and gestured her to come. She shook her head and was about to return inside when Graham stood up and walked toward her. She tensed immediately when he reached for her arm and stepped away. _Bloody Legion reflexes._

“Why don’t you join us? There’s enough food for everyone, and you have not eaten anything in days.

\- I don’t think it’s a good idea.

\- Quite the contrary, I’m sure it is. Come.”

He didn’t try to grab her arm again, and simply motioned her to follow him. For some reason, amongst those _hunger_ , she did follow him and sat on a tree trunk next to him. She forced a smile when everyone smiled at her. She had never felt this out of place before, even when they had literally forgotten _who she was_. She said nothing, did nothing, and simply accepted the plate she was given. She was terribly hungry indeed, and it took her entire strength of mind not to devour it all in seconds.

Graham remained silent as well, uncannily calm as the tribe laughed and talked and sung, obviously not eating anything. _Not that he could, with these bandages of his._ She looked at him for a few seconds, wondering what could be going on in his head. Was he really hoping that helping savages would redeem him? Were they band-aids to his inexistent conscience? He seemed rather comfortable with this ludicrous attempt to make up for the monstrosities in his past, and serene. More serene than a man like him could reasonably hope to be. _It’s only appearances. I can still see the flames in his eyes._ They were softened, tamed, but still there. Strong. Enduring.

“Hello,” a young man suddenly greeted her. She almost had a start and turned her head toward him. He was sitting a little too close and smiling a lot too wide. “I’m Follow-Chalk. You are the woman we found, yes?

\- Yes…” She cleared her throat. “Yes, it’s me. You speak the common language?

\- White Legs don’t leave survivors often, you’re some kind of lucky I can tell you!” _How can someone be so kind?_ “And yes. Joshua taught me.”

He lowered his eyes in respect when said Joshua looked at him with a distant smile. She shivered and felt the usual lump in her throat while watching that scene. She had seen this kind of behaviour her entire life; it was the exact same behaviour every legionary had when Caesar was around. _And he pretends not be a new Caesar,_ she thought bitterly. She looked away from him as soon as he looked at her.

Follow-Chalk, on the other hand, went back to his former all-smiles and joyful face when he looked at her again. It almost got her to smile too – he was young, so young. _But not younger than me._ He had brown skin, dark blue eyes and tattoos all over his face, and looked like a child still. So… What had Daniel said, again? _Innocent._ She understood, now, what he meant.

“But he didn’t tell me your name.

\- I… Have none.

\- What do you mean?” He seemed confused. “Didn’t your parents give you one? Your tribe?

\- I don’t come from a tribe and I… Don’t remember the name my parents gave me.

\- This is very sad,” he said gloomily. “It’s true you don’t look like any woman I’ve seen before. You look a bit like Joshua, before he came back with… You know.”

He had lowered his tone and looked a bit sheepish, as if it were blasphemy to speak of the obvious. She nodded. _If you only knew._ He was going to say something when one of his fellow tribal hailed him. He apologized and left her for a couple of minutes, sharing a very animated conversation with a group of other young men. It was just long enough for her to realize she was the focus point of the entire tribe; women looked away when she caught them staring and men whispered. Graham was not acknowledging her anymore, he was talking with another group in their strange language.

She had never felt like that before. Most of the time people were scared of her, of her cold looks, cold gaze and violent behaviour. They seemed curious, suspicious still, but mostly curious… _Probably because Graham took me here._ No one ever stared at her so directly, even in the Legion. Caesar’s daughter was a demi-goddess by birth, and she was the head of the Frumentarii. You don’t get to stare at that kind of woman. When she was only Six, Boone never looked at her like that either. _He never really looked at me anyway._

“I’m sorry, they were asking if you were feeling right,” Follow-Chalk told her when he returned. “You look really pale.

\- I always look pale. But… Thank you. For asking.

\- They said your skin looks ashy.” He stopped and, all of a sudden, his face lighted up. “This could be your name! Ash-Skin!

\- I don’t…

\- This is an excellent idea,” Graham intervened. “Ash-Skin. That suits you.”

_Said the Burned Man._ She shook her head, trying to get him to help her but he didn’t say anything else. Follow-Chalk turned to his fellows and announced how the new comer was called. They all repeated it twice, as to remember it and greet her in their home. She weakly smiled and looked away as soon as it was humanly possible.

 _Fucking hell, Ash-Skin? Really?_ She had burned so many places to the ground, burned so many people on crosses, she had lighted so many pyres. She couldn’t be called _Ash_. It didn’t… _It made_ too much sense.

But they all seemed so happy with her new name that she didn’t say anything. She patiently waited for them all to return to their tent to sleep. It didn’t take as long as she feared – only a good ten minutes, the longest ten minutes she had ever lived. She embraced silence when it returned, staring at the dying fire in front of her, trying to get her mind to stop shooting pictures of burning people and ashy corpses at her. _Ash-Skin._ She knew what _ash skin_ looked like. It couldn’t be touched, or else it crumbled and vanished. But it didn’t have to matter, did it? It didn’t matter if they wanted to call her after the fires she had lit. In a week she would be far gone, and soon enough they would forget her entirely. She would forget them too.

“Not so comfortable anymore, are we?” Graham asked while sitting in front of her, on the other side of the fire. “They didn’t mean harm.

\- I know they didn’t. Plus, I don’t really care what they call me.

\- Now that’s a lie. Given your past…

\- You don’t know shit about my past. Don’t try to elaborate on that.”

She looked daggers at him. He didn’t react – not visibly anyway. He just poked the fire, quiet again. Even his hands were bandaged. _How much damage have the flames done to him?_ She couldn’t imagine. _It must hurt still._ It couldn’t be any other way. When she realized he saw her staring, she turned her eyes away and ran a hand across her face. She was still tired. Physically, mentally – but she couldn’t sleep. The pictures, the faces, _the flames_ would haunt her again.

“You’re so different from the girl I remember,” he continued, poking the fire still. “You look the same, speak the same, but you’re changed.

\- Why of course I’m changed. It’s been five fucking years since they tossed you into the Grand Canyon.

\- You were already so much like Caesar back then. Looking down at the entire world like it owed you reverence and obedience, from the full height of your fifteen years of age. The same voice, the same tone.” He shook his head. “Men bowed before you just like they bowed before him.

\- Wild guess I know, but wasn’t it because I was his daughter?

\- You still are.”

_Technically, yes._ But Caesar was dead and Iulia had gone missing. She had told no one about her plan; she had kept it all to herself, conceived it from beginning to end, at night when she couldn’t sleep. She had lit her tent on fire and a few others with it. She had closed the gates that led to the docks. She had watched the Fort burn from Lake Mead and she had left. Once in Cottonwood Cove she had done the exact same thing. A few days later, she was in the first caravan due to leave east and she never looked behind.

 _Ash-Skin._ Her skin was made of ashes, indeed. The Legion’s, Vulpes’, Boone’s, her mother’s. Her father’s. _My father._ It sounded so… Inappropriate. He was never her father. He was Caesar, for her and everyone, and he would always remain so. Graham could fantasize their resemblance, he was just a cold, cold monster and so was she. It was the only resemblance she cared about.

“What is changed in me then?” she asked drily, expecting a sappy answer. “My eyes? They’re dim? Dead, maybe, like I’m dead inside?

\- No, it’s not your eyes. Why did you leave the Mojave?

\- I needed some fresh air.

\- Didn’t you?” He put down his poking stick. “But why? Why did you destroy the Legion instead of leading it?

\- Because I was not… Iulia anymore. I had become something else and that something else couldn’t lead the Legion.”

She was tired of lying, pretending. She was to stay three days; she would cross his path and his questions more than once and she was already tired to evade them. Plus, he was the only person on this planet who could maybe get a grasp of what she done, why she had done it and what she was seeking. _Not that I know what I’m seeking, really._

If she had been perfectly honest, she would have admitted that she was also tired of being alone with her thoughts, her memories and her ghosts. She had been alone since Vulpes’ death and it had been month. It was the first time she remained so long without anyone by her side. Vulpes, Boone, Vulpes again – none of the two had ever really understood her, but they were there. Vulpes hurt her, wounded her, broke her every time he could, but _he was there_. Boone was a silent thing following her like a ghost, occasionally holding her at night when her mind was still blissfully empty, _but he was there._

How ridiculous was it, for her to be aching for someone to _be there_? 

“You know,” she said after his long silence that that could either be mockery or thoughtfulness. “It’s hard to know what you’re thinking with that bandages of yours.

\- I was just thinking how strange it is that someone like you could burn everything she had ever known.

\- It wasn’t everything I ever knew,” she retorted. She regretted this fit of honesty as soon as it came out of her mouth. She scoffed to cover it, or try to. “But you’re right. How can someone who has opened women in half to take their baby burn a place where bloodthirsty slavers open women in half to take their baby?

\- I remember that.” She shrugged when she saw her frowning. “The day Caesar asked you to open that woman. You were twelve.

\- Thirteen.”

She didn’t even have to close her eyes for the scene to unfold in her mind. It was one of the first thing she remembered, when Vulpes found her – the worst day of her life. _Now it competes with the bullet and Boone’s death._ Caesar had summoned her to the slavers’ shack, in Flagstaff’s Fort. She had been authorized to leave the rank to answer the call, and she found him near a pregnant woman’s bed. She was screaming, kicking, struggling against the ties on her wrists and ankles. _I’M NOT GIVING YOU MY BABY! HE’LL DIE WITH ME!_ was all she was screeching. She remembered it was painful, those howls. Caesar had stared right at her, a knife in his right hand, and asked her what the female slaves’ task was. _Provide the Legion with vigorous and pure males._ This one, he told her, doesn’t want to fulfil her task. What had to be had, when a slave refused to accomplish her one and only mission? _Someone has to do it for her._ That someone is you, today.

The Malpais Legate was also there, standing behind Caesar, bathed in the dark. His blue, sharp blue eyes were glowing. She was handed a knife. _I must open her belly_ , she remembered thinking, _so that we can take the baby out of her before it is dead._ Childish reasoning. She remembered the weight of the knife and the lump in her throat. And the sharp blue eyes staring at her.

And the clammy sound the knife made at the first stab. It is hard to cut open a body, especially when the knife is dull. This one was particularly so. The howls grew even uglier, even more powerful and painful, but as she pulled the knife up her stomach, they grew duller and duller, until silence resumed. She could still feel the warmness on her hand and the heavy stench of blood, raw flesh and sweat clinging unto her skin. Someone buried their hands in the gaping wound and the baby’s screams replaced those of his now dead mother.

She looked up. The Malpais Legate was gone, but Caesar nodded, satisfied, and congratulated her. She had smiled, covered with blood, the knife still in her hand. She had what she was asked to. Perfect little child soldier.


	3. III

A long and icy shiver ran down her spine as she barely managed to shake off those nightmarish pictures from her mind. She looked down at the flames and stared at them until it burned her eyes. Graham, lost in his own memories, didn’t seem to notice in how much pain she was.

“You didn’t hesitate,” he said. “You took that knife and you opened her. I thought you had cut the baby as well… But no. You saved it.

\- What can I say?” She looked up for a second, eyes darkened by the amount of blood in her head. “I’m a born-butcher.

\- I haven’t forgotten either what happened afterward. That night, when you returned to your tent before the other trainees.” His voice lulled her into her memories again. She struggled not to see any more of it. _How does he know?_ “How much you cried. How red your hands were after cleaning them so many times that it bruised them.

\- How can you know that?

\- I was a Legate. I was supposed to know everything before Caesar, and I got to choose what I told him and what I did not.”

She closed her eyes when the flames started to blind her. It didn’t really surprise her anyway. She was just tired, _exhausted_ by these memories. Each memory was worse than the previous one, and no matter how far, how fast and how desperately she tried to push them all away, they kept on returning, haunting her, proving that her sorry attempts to _stop being a monster_ were vain. The very few happy memories she had couldn’t make up for the horrid scenes that loomed over her head. She could count them on one hand.

The days she spent wandering in the Mojave with nothing in her head but one simple goal. The people she had helped for almost nothing simply because Boone asked her to. Her work for the Kings, in Freeside. Gathering supplies for the Followers of the Apocalypse just because they _needed them._ The light of Vegas and the first night she spent there with Boone, wallowing in the smells, and the sounds, and the music, and the people. And then…

And then her life has sunken back into hell. _The Legion’s hell._ The one she should have never left in the first place. Vulpes brought back the monster she had been but she never could forget who she had become for almost a year. A year was not enough to change anything, though; there was nothing good in her. _Why am I still here, then? I should have burnt with the Fort. When the White Legs attacked us. Why do I still live, if there’s nothing good to my existence?_

When she opened her eyes again and met his, she realized that she probably would have died, had Caesar ever heard about that episode in the trainees’ tent. What a perfect excuse to get rid of his troublesome, undying daughter; she was just getting better from the whippings, at that time, and another series of lashes would have finished her off.

“Why didn’t you say anything, then?

\- He would’ve been greatly disappointed,” he shrugged. “And I knew it was a one-time thing and that you would do it again without flinching, if asked to.

\- And I did.

\- And you did, yes.” He paused for a long time. “You see, now, why I don’t understand what could have happened to turn you against the Legion. They never did to you what they did to me.

\- They never did anything to me. They didn’t have to.

\- I don’t believe that a bullet, even in the brain, could make you a merciful soul.”

_And you’re right about that._ She sighed. She didn’t _want_ to talk about it, but she had do, didn’t she? She had said too much to back down now. And perhaps he could understand. _No, he can’t._ He just said so: what happened to him wasn’t anything like what happened to her. She wasn’t shot because she was a Frumentarii who had failed: she was shot because she was carrying something that another courier was supposed to be carrying. She came back as the prodigal son – or daughter. She was given back everything she had left behind. Everything could have been exactly as it was before, except that it didn’t. And he couldn’t understand that, he who had been shunned, tortured, for failing his master. _No one can._

“It’s not just the bullet,” she whispered, to herself as much as to him. “It took everything from me. I lost everything, my memories, my identity for so long. I spent months trying to figure out who I was, who I had been, what I was doing. The only thing that drove me was vengeance.” She closed her eyes, bit her lip. It was painful. Physically so. “Vulpes found me when I was done with that. Memories rushed back, but they didn’t erase who I had been for a year. They just… Clashed in my head. Made it impossible to just be Iulia again, or Six still.

\- Who have you been, during that year?

\- A ghost. I chased after the man who shot me, I ran errands for others. Helped people in need when they asked. The man I travelled with… Had a score to settle with the Legion. Together we killed entire detachments of legionaries.” She scoffed bitterly. “Vulpes almost killed me in Nipton when we tried to stop what was happening there. He didn’t recognize me, and neither did I.”

She felt a lonely tear running down her face, cupping her cheek and falling on her lap. She missed those days, so terribly. Her head hurt every single hour and her sleep was haunted by fleeting images she couldn’t make sense of, but at least she was blissfully ignorant of how much of a monster she truly was. She was alone with a man who didn’t care who she had been, as long as the woman she was now killed legionaries. They travelled in silence, tried to go do when they could, kept each other warm when the nights were cold. He kept her close when she woke up screaming. He protected her when her head hurt so much she couldn’t move. _And I betrayed him._

“I tried to be Iulia again. I ended the war against the NCR and I won it for Caesar. I gave him Hoover Dam, and he covered it with the severed head of people I had worked for. He enslaved their wives. He raped their daughters. I let him. _I helped him._ ” She suppressed a sob. If she allowed it, she would collapse and drown herself in tears. _Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone._ “I tried to kill who I had been. I killed… I killed the Courier.

\- You killed the Courier?” He blinked, and nodded silently. “Who did you kill?

\- The man I travelled with. He thought the Legion had abducted me. He tried to _save me._ He was dead the moment he entered Cotonwood Cove. It was either Vulpes or I and… At least it was painless.”

_Not for everyone._ She gulped as Boone’s green eyes stared at her, crouched in the shadows of her mind. That look on his face, when he understood who she was, what she had done, she would never forget that. It wasn’t heart-breaking, wasn’t sad, wasn’t furious. It was _devastating._ When she put Maria on his forehead, when his eyes didn’t leave her. The disappointment, and the quiet fatality on his face. He never said a word. He collapsed in silence, and died in silence, as he had lived. He joined his wife, the wife her Legion had taken from him. _I promised him we would destroy it all._ She hadn’t lied. But she killed him first.

“It killed her, but it didn’t bring back Iulia. So… So I killed her too. I made sure Caesar’s death appeared as an accident, caused by his auto-doc. Vulpes started to suspect me. I didn’t try to conceal it.” A pause. “She was dead too, but I stood still. So I destroyed her Legion and I ran, but that didn’t kill me either and here I am. With a new name, new things to destroy and new people to kill.” She shook her head and scoffed before looking at Graham again. “Are you happy now? Now you know everything about my god-forsaken soul. I used to be the best and the worst of them, and now I’m nothing at all.

\- You’re not. Four times you were baptised, and four times you were reborn.

\- I told you not to shove your religious stuff down my throat.

\- It’s not religious,” he retorted, looking at the flames too now. “You were baptised in your mother’s blood, the bullet’s powder, in that blade that cut your heart. Vulpes?” She nodded. “The White Legs have baptised you in sand. Iulia, the Courier, no one, and Ash-Skin.”

She smiled bitterly and chuckled. He didn’t make any sense. All these people were bad, none of them should have been given the right to live again and again and again, to destroy again and again and again. And rise again, each time weaker and more broken than the other. _I shouldn’t have been given so many second chances._

But he was deadly serious and his eyes were so bright and his voice so low. She looked away, fighting the tears that welled up in her eyes like the weak thing she was. He made too much sense, he spoke the truth and that truth hurt her. And she didn’t want to hear it because it meant that she was stuck in a downward spiral with no end except, maybe one day, her death at last. How many lives would have she taken by then? How many nations, families, how many towns would have fallen, for her to finally fall too?

“What are you trying to say?” she groaned. “That your God is giving me the opportunity to redeem? The same he gave to you?

\- Maybe I am.

 _\- Maybe I am_. Well, guess what? Your God has already given me that opportunity once, and I ignored it. Why would he give me another one? Is he stupid?” She jumped on her feet, ignoring her dizziness, her face deformed by pain, anger and despair. “And if he does exist, there is no such thing as Heaven for any of us. He will _never_ forgive us for what we did. We have hundreds of people’s blood on our hands. You led the Legion. You helped Caesar. You created it all, you gave birth to _me_. You created me! You’re as responsible as I am for the blood we’re covered with!

\- I never said I wasn’t.” His voice was now feral. He was furious. “Don’t blame me for your own crimes.

\- Then stop believing that living as an hermit in deepest Utah can spare you the hell you deserve!”

She was now screaming, staring at the shining blue eyes in front of her. The flames were there, in his eyes, no longer tamed, no longer dim. They were devouring, threatening, more than the actual fire between them. He slowly stood up to face her too and for a second, she saw him again. The Malpais Legate. In the smoke of the campfire, she saw his two eyes glaring at her with rage, demanding blood, _her_ blood. _This is who he really is,_ she thought. _A Legion Legate. Forever and ever._

For a second, what she was in his eyes scared her, reminded her of a time when this man had the right of life and death over her. But it wasn’t who he pretended to be now: that someone couldn’t kill in cold blood, however arrogant and unbearable. However she reminded him of someone he used to be, or thought he used to be. _He’s still a monster and he’ll always be._

“You’re here because I told them to heal you,” he growled. “Don’t overstep.

\- Or what? You’ll kill me and show them that your fancy speeches don’t mean anything? You can pretend you’re no longer the monster you’ve been, but I know better. You’re dying to finish the work and put another bullet in my brain, _I see it!_

\- Don’t tempt me. Don’t.” He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, they were cold as ice. “You should get some rest, _Iulia_.”

She froze and shivered. _You…_ She clenched her fist and remembered her stiletto on her ankle. _I could kill you here and now. Finish my work._ She could. The tribals would kill her in an instant, end her misery at last. _I survived Caesar, and Vulpes, and the Mojave. I can’t let him kill me._ She couldn’t allow herself to die because of him.

So she just turned away and walked to her tent. She paced it back and forth, trying to simmer down and stop shaking. _Iulia’s dead,_ she repeated. _She’s dead. I killed her. I killed everyone. I killed her._ She closed her eyes and slipped her fingers in her hair, falling down on her knees as she pulled them hard enough to make her scalp scream in pain. It hurt, it hurt so much but she needed the pain to be _real._ She buried her face in her hands when it became unbearable and she screamed, one last time.

And she cried, cried, cried, because she didn’t know what else to do. Because he was speaking the truth and that truth was too painful, _too true._ It was too painful to see that he knew how to deal with the horrors in his past while she had no idea how to keep the memories, and the ghosts, and the nightmares away. How could he had changed so little, and still manage to pretend he did? _To believe he did?_ She crawled to her bed and collapsed on it, curling up, sobbing still. Everyone could hear her, why should it matter? She wouldn’t stay. They would forget – she had to go. She wouldn’t survive it. She couldn’t.


	4. IV

She fell into a dark, deep, sick sleep. Dreamless. Nightmare-less, for the first time in months. Empty and soothing. She probably would have slept for the entire following day if, awakened by steps inside her tent. She woke up with a start and instantly grabbed her stiletto to throw it blindly through the chamber. The intruder froze, his eyes wide and his hands lifted as to show he meant no harm. The stiletoo had pierced the tent’s fabric a few inches from his face. She blinked and let out a heavy sigh when she recognized him. _Follow-Chalk._ She ran a hand across her face, her fingers through her tangled hair and sat back on the bed, her heart still beating a lot too fast.

“ _What do you want?_ ” she said with a raspy voice. “Why did you wake me?

\- We were worried because you did not leave your tent today. We thought maybe you were sick.

\- I’m not. Satisfied?

\- I’m not worried anymore.”

She sighed again. He didn’t mean harm, but he had awakened her from her very first resting sleep in months. Asleep, she couldn’t think about anything. No Joshua Graham, no Legion, no heavy past, no future to be feared… She wouldn’t sleep for another week, if not a month. And she still had days to wait before the scouts took her out of this place. _Damned tribals and their stupid gentleness,_ she thought. _Daniels speaks of innocence, but they’re just stupid as fuck._

Chalk shuffled around awkwardly, as if he didn’t dare tell her what he came to tell her. _You may as well piss me off a little more now that I’m awaken._ She frowned.

“And?

\- Daniel wanted me to tell you that…” He gulped. “Our scouts are back. They’re injured so they need a day or two of rest, but after that they’ll lead you out of Zion.

\- Oh, good news at last.” She faked a smile. It relaxed him, if only a bit. “Thanks.”

He nodded but he didn’t leave. _What now?_ Was he going to tell her that Graham had cried all night, regretting what he had told her? That he wanted to show her around? That she could have another name? _What in the bloody hell does he want?_

“Are you going to tell why the hell you’re here, or do I need to beg you?

\- I’ve… I heard your argument with Joshua, yesterday,” he stammered. “Is everything okay?

\- Yes.” She frowned again. “Have you told anyone?

\- I thought it wasn’t… Good.

\- You were right. No use in telling anyone, this is between Graham and I.”

He looked unconvinced, torn between his quasi-worship for Graham and his apparent natural benevolence toward strangers. She herself was torn between her reflex to mock his ridiculous kindness, and some sort of a heart-breaking surprise to see a boy she knew nothing about willing to listen to her, instead of throwing her out of his Eden. _I would’ve killed me in my sleep, if I were him._ To protect her lands, her people, from his strange woman who couldn’t look at them in the eyes. But this boy refused to believe she could be a danger. _I so am. You should be worried._ But he wasn’t. He was just afraid she might get tired of him and push him out of her tent. _Your tent, really._

She took a deep breath and tried to relax. She gestured him to sit next to her. He did with visible enthusiasm – he wanted to talk, and she couldn’t help smiling. It was a first. People never wanted to _talk_ to her. When she spoke, they listened but that was all. No one wanted to speak. Let alone _befriend her_. It was odd, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Do you know each other? Joshua and you? You seem to understand each other. More than us.

\- We… Used to. Years ago, I knew him before he got all his bandages,” she said, sitting cross-legged. “I grew up in the same…

\- Tribe? When we first met him, he said he came from a huge tribe he called the Leejion.” He spelt it when she frowned. _Does he even know how to write?_ “He didn’t have the bandages at that time and he said he was the servant of a man called Caesar.” She tried not to flinch when he pronounced it in the Legion way. “He led his master’s armies and we were ready to follow him into war. But then he lost those armies to another tribe, the Enseeyar, the Sunset People.

\- The Legion approached you?

\- Yes, a long time ago. When he came back, he was you saw him. Burned, broken, but changed.”

She didn’t remember Caesar speaking of the Dead Horses or Sorrows tribe – but at that time, she didn’t really care about tribes and tribals, and she was too young to be involved already. She only cared about being the best at all trainings, and be noticed. So, obscure tribes in Utah? Couldn’t care less. It was Caesar and the Malpais Legate’s business, and she had to stay away from that business.

Chalk apparently didn’t know anything about this _Leejion_ and this _Enseeyar_ tribes, except that they had been important to Joshua… In their own ways.

“Why did he come back?

\- He warned us about his tribe’s true nature, and he led us away from Caesar, to our own destiny in Zion,” he replied, reverent to the extreme. “If it wasn’t for him, the Dead Horses would still be the whipping boys of the valley. He showed us to hold our territory and protect ourselves. He showed us how the Leejion would have destroyed us.

\- It destroys everything it touches. It’s fortunate… That he helped you out of its claws.

\- I thought you said you didn’t come from a tribe. Do you come from the Leejion too?”

_Tricky one._ Technically yes, she did. But she didn’t know if she could really tell him. He knew nothing about the Legion, but Daniel did – and if Graham was careful, he surely didn’t tell anyone exactly what he did and who he had been in the Mojave. Ruining his best efforts and risking to alert Daniel weren’t worth this much honesty. He knew enough, and it was infamous enough in its own right to want her away from his beloved Sorrows.

Lying wasn’t a good idea either. Sooner or later, someone would suspect something and she just told him she had known him before he was covered with bandages, so… _If only I could just leave this place and be done with that conversation._ But it wasn’t any easier to escape her past with him than it was with herself; everything and everyone led her back to who she had been. _Who I still am._

“I do. But I understood… They weren’t good people, so I fled. Like Graham did.

\- You did the right thing, then,” he smiled. “He’s happier than he was when we first met him, I can tell you. Even if we can’t really know how he feels, with all his bandages.

\- Is he? He doesn’t seem so happy to me.

\- He’s because he’s a bit… Withdrawn. But sometimes he comes with us when we hunt and he seems really glad to be there.”

_Now he’s deluding himself._ A man like Joshua Graham could be _satisfied_ with _hunts_. Even a changed, burned, broken man couldn’t – she couldn’t. _Or maybe I could?_ She had no idea, after all. She never had a peaceful life like theirs, except those few years with her mother. They were so remote, and she remembered so little about them. She often forgot that woman ever existed.

Before Vulpes found her, she had talked about it with Boone. He had told her about the life he had with Carla, his wife. It wasn’t perfect, it really wasn’t. But _it was_. It was enough for him, in a world like their own, and even though she didn’t like Novac, they were about to have a baby. Their life was _peaceful._ It didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to be real. She had smiled, wondering what it would be to have a _peaceful_ life with a man like him. A quiet, simple life, somewhere in the Mojave wastelands where no one would bother them.

Her life had taken such a dramatic turn what she never asked herself that question again… Until now. Part of her yearned for that life, but another knew that it was impossible to have, impossible to keep. _Impossible not to ruin._

“You look like him, when he returned.” He was staring, but she hadn’t realized, lost in her thoughts. “You look… Haunted. As if you’ve been living for too long. But you’re young, aren’t you?

\- I don’t really know if I can still be called young.

\- Maybe you could find here the peace he found. Why do you want to leave so bad?

\- Because I…”

She didn’t find an answer, because she didn’t have any for him. It was easy to tell Graham that she wanted to flee the Legion, but to a tribal? What could she say? She had already run far enough. The Legion was not in Utah, why would she try her luck in mostly deserted lands when she could just stay here and find _peace_? And the Legion was east too, in Arizona: why would she run away by running straight in their direction? _It’s not far enough, here. They could come, whenever they want._ They could storm Zion and destroy everything. He wouldn’t be the first time.

She shook her head and sighed. She used to think tribals were stupid – this one was actually very smart. Not the kind of smartness she usually met, but a very natural kind of smartness; a natural sense of how people felt, what they thought and why. Something she never had. Chalk knew how to read people, even when they were faking, because he didn’t realize that people could lie. _How… Depressing._

“Because I have to. It’s hard to explain.

\- It’s sad. I really like you,” he sighed, shrugging. _You don’t know me. You have no idea who you’re talking to. You have no idea how many men like you I killed._ He suddenly blushed, although it wasn’t easy to see with his brown skin. “And… No, nothing.

\- What?” she smirked, amused. “What is it, Follow-Chalk?

\- You won’t like it.

\- How do you know? Just tell me. It’s too late to back up now.

\- Well…” He risked a glance at her. “You’re really pretty when you smile. You should smile more.”

She blinked, bemused. _Have I heard that correctly? Pretty?_ He blushed even more and rose from the bed. She had no idea what to say and how to react for the longest time. _No one_ had ever told her she was pretty. Vulpes said she was beautiful, but he only ever said it when she was naked, covered with his bruises and his marks. It was just a way to flatter himself, indirectly. He called her _his_ , and it was true. She called him _hers_ , but she knew it wasn’t true. That man was only ever himself. Together they were _Deimos and Phobos_ ; and Phobos wasn’t kind, and Deimos wasn’t _pretty._ Boone’s eyes spoke for him, sometimes, but he never said anything about her being beautiful, pretty, or anything.

 _Pretty._ No one dared. She eventually chuckled, shaking her head. He was truly a child, and she was truly older than her years. She felt like those old women facing the lunacies of a toddler. Follow-Chalk interpreted her laugh as something positive and he chuckled too. Someone outside called him and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, I need to go hunting. You’re not going to sleep again, are you?

\- Oh, no. I… Will probably go and see Graham, to organize my departure,” she replied. “Have a good hunt, then.

\- Thank you, Ash-Skin.”

_Ash-Skin._ It still didn’t sound perfect and she still didn’t recognize this name as hers, but it did sound _good._ Maybe it was enough, for now, that it sounded good. _Ash-Skin._


	5. V

She did go to see Graham, though she had no idea where to find him. She wandered in the caves idly for long minutes, looking for his tent, unable to find it. _Does he live outside?_ She eventually managed to find someone who gestured her a direction to follow. It led into a secondary cave, adjacent to the main one. The woman tried to warn her of… Something, but she didn’t understand what exactly. She nodded and thanked her, and went straight into the second cave.

It was darker inside, there were only a few lanterns and they weren’t very bright. She looked around, eyes narrowed, searching for him. He was sitting on a chair, in a corner, his back turned on the entrance – and on her, incidentally. She didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to ascertain what he was doing. _His bandages,_ she realized. _He’s taking them off._ Those around his hands. She didn’t dare say anything, not after what happened the day before. _I’ll go back later._

She was turning to leave when he scoffed. _Spotted._ She turned again and saw him sitting still, the bandages in his hand.

“Now that you’re here, you might as well come and tell why you invaded my quarters.

\- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb,” she apologized, slowly walking past him to face him. One of his hand was uncovered. “Am I interrupting something?

\- Nothing that can’t wait. Take a sit.”

He gestured a chair nearby. She brought it back in front of him, cleared her throat and sat. He looked at her with calm eyes and crossed his arms on his chest. _Why is he taking them off?_ Did he replace them _every day?_ _It would be incredibly filthy if he did not, I suppose._ Looking at the raw skin on his hand, she couldn’t help wondering what he really looked like. She still couldn’t remember his face before the screams. She just remembered the smell, and the tar on his skin.

She moved about, ill-at-ease. She didn’t know what to say. She still resented him for what he had said, and for what he tried to get her to believe and hope for. _I don’t want to hope. Not again._ It would be too painful, when she would have to face the truth. She had been disappointed too many times; she wouldn’t survive another self-inflicted lie.

“So what is it you want? Surely not my company.

\- Follow-Chalk told me the scouts were back. After a day or two of rest, they’ll be ready to lead me out of the valley,” she said. “I thought you’d like to know.

\- Yes, he told me too. He’s quite fond of you, I must say.

\- He seems so, yes.” She smiled. “He’s a good boy.

\- He is.”

His eyes narrowed. _What is he thinking?_ Good riddance? He wasn’t going to miss her, for sure. Then what? Why was he so silent, suddenly? He shook his head and sighed.

“To be honest, I thought he would convince you to stay.

\- Did you, now?” She raised an eyebrow. “Even his kindness can’t do that.

\- I guess. We’ll supply you with everything necessary to survive in the east, then.

\- Thank you.”

For some reason she almost apologized, told him she saw sorry for what happened. She cursed herself. _Why the fuck would you do that?_ He wasn’t anything to her. He was nothing but a Legion renegade, just like her, and two renegades never make a good team. _It’s not like me to apologize for something I don’t regret._ Except that it was hard to tell who this “me” was, these days. She simply nodded, then, and looked around.

This part of the caves was his bedroom, but not only. An incredible number of weapons were stocked here and there, in crates, waiting for someone to use them. The smaller boxes were probably filled by ammos. _Pile body upon body,_ Vulpes’ voice whispered in her mind. She gritted her teeth and shrugged off the thought. Boxes upon boxes. Less murderous; just as threatening.

When she turned her eyes back on him, she saw that he was staring now. He seemed lost in contemplation; not looking exactly at her, but through her. Thinking about something, or someone. _I’d kill to know what goes on in this head of his._ She had killed for less than that, anyway. She let him, for a while, entertain those thoughts in his mind, until his hands caught her attention again.

The bandages were falling off wrist of the hand he was taking care of when she entered, and she motioned it. He looked at his wrist too and slowly unravelled the bandage to take it off entirely. The skin was just as raw. _Is his entire body like this?_

“You were taking them off,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “Are you… Still in pain?

\- It never stops burning, and yet every day I have to unwind the bandages and replaced them with fresh ones.” He sighed and shrugged tiredly. “Exposing my skin to the air is like living through it again, but it’s better to be clean than comfortable.

\- How could you survive? I remember your… Screams. It never stopped, for hours. You were still screaming when I headed back to Flagstaff.

\- I survived because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire around me,” he slowly said. His voice sent shivers down her spine. His cold eyes were on her, now. “You never experienced the depths of Caesar’s fire, but I have. Only too much.”

She nodded. Whatever ordeal he put her through, Caesar never did so simply to torture her. There was a point, however twisted. She never got to see the flame in his eyes directed against her – even when she killed him, strangled him in his sick sleep. He never understood. His rigid mind could not conceive the idea of his own daughter, his creature, ending his miserable life before his disease could.

But that day, when he ordered his right-hand man to be lit on fire and pushed into the Grand Canyon, his eyes were burning. Not quite the same as Graham’s; Caesar’s eyes were a cold, blue flame. It wasn’t wildfire, it wasn’t burning with rage or thirst for vengeance: it was the devil inside of him’s radiance, shining through. As the fire was growing around the Malpais Legate, as he started to kick and scream, his eyes glowed more furiously than ever before and she saw a glimpse of the devil inside, finally unleashed, never to be hindered again.

From then on, Caesar turned against everyone, reduced tribes to ashes, destroyed former allies, pit families against families, as if his Legate’s death had opened the gates to something that yearned to get out. He sent men to destroy the Divide, he made her a Frumentarii before she even was of age because _he knew_ that his daughter had grown into a feral beast and that she could bring terror, fires and death where he couldn’t. He sent _Phobos and Deimos_ to tribes after starving them to death. She obeyed his every order, killed more than he asked; she knew first-hand what that devil inside of him could do.

But Graham was right: she knew the devil, but she only ever saw his fire that day in the Grand Canyon.

“And you…” She was whispering, now. Caesar’s devil was erratic and it would have killed him eventually. Graham’s… Graham’s and hers were the same. They murmured the same things. _You shouldn’t be alive._ “You never thought about…

\- Dying? Ending my torment?” He lowered his eyes and narrowed. _He’s smiling_ , she understood. The outer corners of his eyes were slightly wrinkled. “Some days are harder than others. I consider it daily, each time I have to strip out my bandages.

\- How are you still alive, then?

\- For the same reason as you, I imagine. Consider yourself an alien if you wish, but you and I are seeking the same thing.”

_Then tell me,_ her mind begged against her will. _Tell me what I’m seeking, tell me if you know. I want to know what it takes to feel like before._ To look at the face of the world and laugh, and be able to move forward, leave this place and be good again. She couldn’t be a monster anymore; she would never be a good person anymore. She needed something in between, a reason to exist. _What do I need?_

Her eyes probably begged for her because he reached for her hand. She didn’t understand, at first, and she tried to take it away. He held tighter and she stopped struggling when she saw that it was his naked hand. It felt rough and coarse on her skin. As silence lingered, she tried to get her mind to think about something else than this never-ending pain of feeling uncomplete, undead and not alive at the same time. _If you know, please, tell me what I need._

“The things I did…” She was speaking without realizing. “For the longest time I tried to convince myself it wasn’t me, it was Caesar, or Vulpes, or the Legion. They were all responsible for what I did. But it’s not true, is it?” She scoffed and shook her head, staring at his hand on hers. “I did those things because they made me feel good. I remember feeling good, like a goddess, at the top of a world I was building with blood and death. Do you know how they called us, with Vulpes?

\- Phobos and Deimos.” He smiled again, but his eyes were sad. “I heard the tales.

\- All these things… These wildfires in my head, they never stop burning and they keep on devouring me alive. I wish I never remembered. I want the life I had before my eyes opened. I want something to close them again and soothe the burns.”

His hand held hers even tighter and, for a long time, this hand was all she could see. His other hand slowly reached for her face and softly, but firmly, raised it so that she would look back at his eyes. They were as dark as the room around them and she drowned herself in them, holding back his hand now.

“The bullet in your brain, Vulpes’ death, the White Legs. The wildfire that burned me,” he said, almost whispering too. “They are neither God or Caesar’s work. The things we’ve done are ours to remember, and ours to carry. They’re our burden, just as the dreams we make of a life where everything we’ve done does not exist.

\- What’s the point of surviving, then, if nothing we do can ever mend our soul?”

No answer. Just those two eyes, darkly glimmering. Drowning in them, she almost could see the dark soul he carried in those eyes. Broken. Bruised. Burned. So desperate to change, to amend, to find a way to end this all. _My reflection._ All the speeches, the biblical quotes, the quietness he surrounded himself with were just smokes and mirrors, lies he told himself to keep on living and accept that terrible certainty that his pain would never end.

She had a start when he pulled away his hand. She instantly released him, realizing a bit too late that she was holding it tight. Maybe too tight for his damaged skin. She closed her eyes for a second and sighed.

“I’m sorry.

\- Don’t be,” he sighed too. “We get used to everything, including pain.

\- Not just for that.” She didn’t wish to elaborate. He understood what she meant. “Do you want me to go?

\- You don’t have to.

\- Can I help you with this, then?”

She gestured his hand. He blinked and, for a second, his self-assurance wavered. _Is he afraid I might hurt him?_ She cursed herself and looked away. She had no idea what had just gotten into her – she wasn’t even sure she wanted to help him, and see what he really looked like. It just felt natural, like she had to say that.

But he nodded, and he gave his hand back to her. She slowly dragged her chair closer. At first she didn’t dare to touch it, even more surprised than he was by the turn of events. _I swore to kill that man._ No, she didn’t swear anything. That woman was long gone now.

“Be gentle, please,” he simply said.

She tried her best to best as gentle as possible, slowly taking away the bandages, one by one. It’d been more than five years since the doomed day he fell into the Grand Canyon and his skin was more or less healed, but the marks were still there… And would always be. Compared to her milky-white skin – _my ashy skin_ , his red, dark and tortured flesh looked monstruous. _The flesh, reflecting the horrors inside._ She touched it lightly. It really didn’t feel like skin anymore. _It’s not human,_ she thought.

They didn’t say anything for a long time. She just took off the bandage of his arm, then those of the other one, always revealing the same spectacle, the same broken flesh. His chest was the same when he took off his clothes and let her peel off the bandages there. She stopped for a moment when she reached his neck. _I am… Stripping him?_ She blinked and couldn’t help smiling and chuckling. _That’s exactly what I’m doing._ He blinked too, unsettled by the sudden change of mood.

“Something funny that I’ve missed?

\- No,” she replied, still smiling. “Well, yes, actually. I just realized I am stripping you off.

\- I cannot be first naked man you see naked.

\- Fortunately no, you’re not. But I wasn’t expecting that when I came.

\- I still don’t know why you came in the first place, so that makes two of us.” His eyes followed her moves, and when she tried to unwind the bandages of his face, his hand stopped her. “You don’t want to do this.”

She suspended her move. _Do I? Don’t I?_ She wasn’t sure she wanted to see what these bandages hid. It couldn’t be better than the rest of his body, but it could be worse. They had covered his face in tar too. Blackened everything. It had burned just as the rest.

But she had to do it – she had to know what he looked like. Maybe seeing his broken face would awaken the memory of who he was, then. Before everything, when he was still Caesar’s ghost, giving orders and vanishing in the shadows. She slowly shook her head and brushed off his hand, slowly untying the first bandage.

“I don’t remember your face,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I want to remember. You’re part of my past.

\- I didn’t remember yours either, until the moment you spoke Latin. You don’t have to do this.

\- I have to.” She paused and she looked at his eyes for a second. “Caesar destroyed us both. You have seen what he’s done to me. I want to know what he’s done to you.”

He let his shoulders sag and he closed his eyes, giving in. She slowly, gently, peeled the bandages, revealing inches of skin with each turn. It was different from the rest of his body – it was more ghoul-like, and she almost could see from of his tendons. It seemed, and it felt, more fragile and sensitive. He had barely any lips left, but what remained was completely still. She suppressed a shiver and continued until, soon enough, his head was completely uncovered.

It was horrifying, what fire could do to a human being, but it wasn’t half as horrifying as she was expecting it to be. It was a painful sight, scary but it was… _He looks human still._ Perhaps his body did reflect the darkest depths of his soul. _I would look so terrifying if my body reflected who I really am._

When he opened back his eyes and stared at her, she slightly smiled. He didn’t. He just stared, probably trying to imagine what she was thinking, to predict what she would do. _I don’t recognize him._ Just his eyes, his terribly blue eyes. _It’s not important._ She didn’t need to recognize him; she knew who he was, now. She reached for his cheek, carefully. He quivered when she touched him. _Pain?_

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…

\- I didn’t think you could apologize so many times in a single day,” he said. His lips twisted into a smirk. “I’m not used to being touched. You didn’t hurt me.

\- No one touched you? For all these years?

\- Not like you just have, no.” His smile slowly disappeared as he raised a hand to touch her lips. “I don’t think anyone touched me like you just have. Afraid of hurting. How strange it feels, to be the fragile one.

\- Nothing a Legate ever felt before, isn’t it?”

She smiled and leaned toward him. Her brain was clouded, as if she had lost her all memory again. She only saw his two shining blue eyes and her mind was _quiet_ at last. It felt strangely good, in an intoxicating way, not to know what she was doing, who she was, who the man in front of her was. _This is what I need. Oblivion._ Could he be that thing? _Can he bring me solace?_ She didn’t want to answer, or ask, that question. Not now.

She wanted to touch him, and be touched. She leaned a little bit more, enough for their lips to touch. His harsh, damaged lips, against her smooth, soft lips. He let out a quiet moan. She had no idea if it was pain or lust, but she didn’t back away. She closed the remaining distance between them and she kissed him. It was careful, gentle – it didn’t feel like any kiss she had ever given or received. It was a scared kiss, scared of pain, of bringing back memories that had vanished, scared of breaking this instant’s bliss. But it lasted for a long, long time, and his hands started exploring her hair, her chest, her back. It felt weird to feel his raw skin against her. It didn’t feel perfect, but it felt. _This is so much._ This was just enough.

“I thought you hated me,” he whispered against her lips. “I thought I was a monster.

\- We’re all monsters here.

\- You don’t look like one.

\- It’s my own brand of monstrosity.” She closed her eyes. “It fools everyone. You, them. Everyone.”

He moved so quickly that she didn’t see of it until she was pressed against his chest, standing up. She opened her eyes again and they stared back at each other for one second, _one little second_. This time he kissed her, and there wasn’t any hesitation this time. It was wild, it was harsh, the way it should have been from the beginning. She groaned and pressed herself against him even tighter. _I’m out of my goddamn mind._ Maybe so, but it felt good.

The world revolved around them and they both hit the ground as he pinned her against the carpet. She clung unto his neck, gasping for air _and for him_. He tore away her jacket, her shirt, everything until her chest was bared. She shivered when his hand touched her stomach, follow the trace of Vulpes’ scar on her breast. He kissed it, gently at first, then harder. She moaned, biting her lips but unable to remain quiet.

“Vulpes did that,” he growled on her skin. His breath was hot, scorching so. “Does it hurt still?

\- No…

\- And this one,” he continued, raising himself to her face and kissing the scar the bullet had left on her forehead. “Who?

\- A man called Benny, from the Chairmen. He wanted… The chip I was carrying.

\- Did you kill him?” She nodded. “Good.

\- Graham…”

It was a plea. It was lingering, painfully lingering. He kept her waiting – and he kept himself. She could feel his erection against her thigh as he was almost literally devouring her lips, her neck, leaving marks on every inch of skin he could get his teeth on. _The Legion way,_ she thought from afar, trying to get him to speed things up. When her hands reached his crotch, she remembered that he still his trousers on… And the bandages. _Fucking hell._

She pulled herself away from him and managed to pin him to the ground. _My turn to lead._ She smiled hungrily, trying to think about something else than the aching heart of her lower abdomen. She stripped him of his trousers, and started to wind off the bandages. Her moves were jerkier than before, pressing, as she slowly revealed his stomach’s skin. She heard a groan and he grabbed her wrist immediately, preventing her from going any further.

“I said _gently_ ,” he groaned. “Or maybe you just can’t wait?

\- Like you can.” She pressed her other hand against his hardness. His breathing stopped and his eyes shone furiously. “Yeah, I thought so.

\- Go ahead. ”

His smile grew hungrier as he released her hand. She carried on her work, forcing herself not to be too harsh. _No way I take it all off,_ she thought. She would never have that patience. When she reached the bandages that covered the bulge of his groin, she suppressed the voice in her hand urging her to tear it all apart and she made it even gentler. She had no idea whether _that_ part was actually damaged to. It was working anyway, although just as heavily scarred as the rest of his body. She couldn’t help staring for a few seconds, before she smiled and brushed it with light fingers. _He wanted me to pine of him, didn’t he? Let’s give him a taste of his own medicine._

Even without eyebrows, she immediately saw that he was frowning. His eyes were narrowed, his smile had disappeared and he was holding her shoulder tight, a bit too tight. Whether anyone had touched him or not since the burning, as a Legate, she was quite sure _no one_ had ever treated him like that. _Like a normal man, touched by a free woman._ Her smiled widened when she felt his cock twitching under her fingers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, both annoyed and aroused. “ _Come here._

\- Giving orders now, are we?” She kept on toying, tilting her head. “How will you make me obey, _Graham?_

\- Don’t ask question…” He jerked up, pinned her back to the ground, blocking her wrists above her head, against the carpet. “Lest you wish to hear the answer.

\- I’m not interested in _hearing_.

\- Yet you talk too much.”

He grabbed her waist to prevent her from moving and eased himself inside of her. She tensed instantly and let out a moan – she wasn’t going to fight him on this. She freed one of her hand and barely remembered _not_ to dug her nails in his back. She just held him against her, everywhere she could hold him.

How bittersweet it must have been for him. She closed her eyes, following every each of his thrusts, trying to get him to bury himself even deeper in her. The air around her was filled with his half-groan, half-moan, either of pain or pleasure or maybe both. Yearning for more and begging to stop at once.

She almost asked him if it hurt him, but he didn’t give her the time. Seizing both of her wrists again, he plunged toward her and kissed her again, pushing himself inside harder and harder. She whimpered into his mouth, losing the strength to fight his grip on her and losing the willpower to resist her own weakness. She allowed it, allowed everything, from the blood he drew when he bit her lip to the fire he ran on her breast when he kissed them with a consuming hunger. And at that very moment, as she lost herself to whatever he wanted to do to her, _she felt it_ , the blissful lightness she had known before everything collapsed. In the confusion of her cloudy mind, suddenly one thing was clear: _he_ was the thing she had been searching for, the one thing that would soothe the wildfire of her mind and ease the pain. _What pain?_

And she cried out his name, his first name, a name no woman had ever screamed for him, and it sounded just right, and for the first time in her life she didn’t feel stupid, foolish or weak to be whimpering, shivering, moaning to a man. And he held her close, closer still, forgetting that he was supposed to keep her still and control everything, and he buried his face in the tender skin of her neck.

He came first, with a growl so rough that it had to come from the deepest depths inside of him. She gasped and shorty followed him, holding unto his shoulders way too strongly. His breath grew even hotter, jerkier and his body was hard as stone when the last wave of pure, raw pleasure washed over them both. She struggled to catch her breath and he slowly, gradually, seemed to go back to his own senses.

She released him and he slipped out of her to collapse next to her, on the carpet, on the caves’ flour. Lips parted, a hand on her forehead, she focused on her own breath and tried to make sense of what just happened. She slowly started to feel tingle, slight burning where he had bite and left mark. The slight pain grounded her again and she couldn’t help chuckling. _Thank goodness dear old Caesar is dead,_ she thought as she opened her eyes again and looked back at Graham. _I just fucked his former Legate._


End file.
